


The Boys and Girls Who Cried Wolf

by Orchidee_Tea



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Adventure, Attempt at Humor, Drama, Explicit Language, Gen, Headcanon, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Intrigue (sort of), Mystery, Out of Character, Pre-game AU, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2019-03-24 14:18:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13812954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchidee_Tea/pseuds/Orchidee_Tea
Summary: After becoming frustrated with a society that’s grossly obsessed with killings and tragedy, Kokichi Ouma decided to jump off the roof of his high school. That was his plan... Of course, until he was accidentally saved by a gentle giant who went down the path of delinquency and a nymphomaniac gyaru who’s secretly a genius.This is the story of an unlikely group of friends with a single goal: to free the world from the hungry grasps of the wolf they call Team Danganronpa.Pre-game AU.





	1. Paper Airplanes

It was summertime, and summertime always brought about a unique feeling. The sun ran at the peak of the bright blue sky, the air wavering with a dry, but strangely comforting scent. People skipped across the melting asphalt in shorts and flimsy t-shirts and shouted at the top of their lungs in what could only be described as youthful excitement.

And that was exactly why Kokichi Ouma had to die.

Because in that youthful excitement remained only one topic: the latest season of the hit reality TV show, Danganronpa. Well, it was less of a “reality TV show” and more so a “glorified murder spree,” but saying something like that was bound to bring hordes of angry fans, waiting to encapsulate the culprit of such a “contradiction” in their latest murder scheme.

“No, that’s wrong!”

“Allow me to cut through those words!”

Stuff like that, all while stabbing the poor soul in the chest.

A shiver stepped through Kokichi’s spine like a clumsy waltz between two ghosts. Entertaining the scenario was enough to send his breakfast back out his mouth, but any sense of sickness was replaced by a wave of determination that rushed through his entire body. He kicked off his shoes and stepped on top of the barricade separating the roof of his high school from the rest of the cityscape, grimacing.

“No way...” Kokichi muttered the words under his breath. “I’m not going to end up like that...”

Trying to stabilize his footing, he sighed. A soft breeze flitted through strands of his hair, the lapping hours of daylight finally dawning on him with the perfect amount of warmth. He could hear the cicadas buzz to the tune of a baritone melody and the happy yelling of elementary school students playing four-square, with a jump rope, or on a seesaw. No wonder, he thought, that summer was considered by so many people to be their favorite season.

He looked at the ground. There were a few cars sitting in the summer heat right below him. Considering his current position and elevation, there was a likely possibility he might crash into one of them. The opened sunroof of an expensive car cutting through his torso, blood oozing from any crevice imaginable, lifeless limbs contorted in inhuman directions... That scene would do nothing except please the people he was trying to get away from.

For a moment, just one moment, Kokichi almost took a step back onto the roof. But then he looked up.

What faced his line of vision was a giant billboard, the words “Congratulations to the survivors of Danganronpa 52!” engraved on it in large, bold letters. Two people stood next to the phrase, who Kokichi assumed were the supposed survivors that the billboard was talking about, but the expressions on their faces were anything but congratulatory. Their eyes were tired, dark circles drooping from underneath them, their shoulders slumped, their frowns piercing. There was only one word to describe the feeling trapped on their faces:

Despair.

Kokichi knew it.

If he was wrong, then the world wasn't going to change for him. If he was right, then everything was as messed up as it could be, which meant that it was very, very messed up.

That was it.

That was the despairing truth.

He jumped.

* * *

 

A crumpled paper airplane found its way in between two slits of a boy’s blackish-purple hair, the pointed end millimeters away from poking his head. His violet eyes slowly drifted to the culprit behind the crash, who smirked before raising his hand and yelling “Mr. Yumeno!” at the top of his lungs.

The man in question, who was writing down a kanji that neither boy knew how to read, let out a sigh before turning to face his two students. 

“What is it, Kaito?” Mr. Yumeno twiddled the piece of white chalk in his left hand as he stared at the 1st-year with a tired expression.

“Kokichi was making a paper airplane during your lecture,” Kaito’s smirk twisted into a malicious sneer. “Even threw it at himself, the fucking retard.”

With another sigh – although this one had an exasperated lilt in tone – Mr. Yumeno gave the shorter boy an attempt at an apologetic frown. The paper airplane was still stuck in Kokichi’s hair, barely holding onto what little life it held in its folds.

Kokichi himself paid no care to the commotion and blankly stared at the window plastered on the wall opposite him, showcasing the city drenched in a sweaty summer sun.

“Uh-huh,” The skeptical teacher flicked a strand of wavy ruby hair out of his vision, “And what else? Is he planning to blow up the school too?”

Kaito fiercely nodded, “Yeah, he’s totally gonna do that.”

Mr. Yumeno put on a vacant smile and returned to the chalkboard behind him.

“Hey!” Kaito’s rambunctious voice rang out within the confines of the small classroom. “Don’t just ignore me!”

His yelling was in vain, however, as Mr. Yumeno continued to defy his much rowdier student’s barking and resumed where he left off in his lecture. A “tch” escaped from the corner as Kaito slumped down against his chair, picking at the pen markings made on the wooden desk in front of him.

Kokichi stifled a chuckle and gently untangled the paper airplane from his hair. He set it down on his desk, next to his failed attempt at taking notes. From the illegible handwriting and the fat red zero near one of the wings, he assumed it was probably made from one of Kaito’s old tests.

 _Summer remedial classes with Kaito Momota,_ he thought, _how have I fallen so far?_

Kokichi Ouma was far from stupid, or at least, that’s how it seemed to be. He wasn’t a scholar student by any means, but his grades were decent, and he showed a fair amount of skill in comprehending and applying subjects – a deep thinker, so to speak.

Now, a fair question: how did he end up in summer school?

The answer: it’s a long story. Let’s just say it involved banana peels and board games.

Kokichi’s eyes fixed themselves on the paper airplane before wandering over to where Kaito was sitting. The taller and most likely stronger boy was looking out the window next to him. A group of elementary school students passed by on the street closest to the school’s campus, skipping on the scorching pavement with colorful ice cream cones in their hands. Kaito confusedly squinted at the children, who took notice of the two boys and waved at them with excited smiles on their faces.

Kokichi waved back. Kaito flipped them off.

The children stared at them with innocent eyes. Soon after the incident, they were distracted by a black cat that sped past them, causing them to run after it in curious steps and completely losing interest in the high school boys from before.

“Um, hello? Earth to...either one of you?” Mr. Yumeno faced his students and groaned, crushing a palm into his face.

He walked over to them and slammed a thick blue textbook on the desk that separated the two, the monstrous growl immediately grabbing their attention.

“Were you even listening? The only reason you’re both here is that you _clearly_ seemed to not understand any of this.”

He opened the textbook with a forceful swing.

Today was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This is more of a prologue than anything else, but with this out of the way, things might be able to move along faster. I've had this idea swimming in my head for some time, so I can't express how relieved I am to finally express it in a full-blown fanfiction -- also because we need more pre-game stuff! I'll try my best to update frequently and keep chapters a fairly decent length too, so keep an eye out if you enjoyed this! :)


	2. Breakable Vows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not updating in a while! I kept on revising this chapter and it ended up being super lengthy, not to mention that I was busy with school work and life stuff. Please forgive me! 
> 
> Like I said before, this chapter is really long (at least double the length of the last one) so you might need to get into a comfy position, drink a cup of tea (or coffee, or water, or maybe even some Fanta...). I hope you enjoy this update! :)

_They held each other’s warm, sweaty hands._

_Their mother, once young and beautiful, rested her head on the table and wept. It had been the fifth time this week. For the fifth time, she did nothing but sob quietly._

_She thought they weren’t listening, but oh no, they were. All five times, they had heard everything._

_The older of the two spoke up first in gentle, bated breaths._

_“We should leave her be,” He said, a scrunched-up frown smacked on his face, “There’s nothing we can really do.”_

_The younger held back the hot tears threatening to spill from his eyelids. A small sniffle floated in the bitter air._

_“B-but...”_

_“No buts. Besides,” The boy whispered, “the newest episode is going to start soon.”_

_Silence. Silence save for their mother’s tears, of course. Their grip on the other’s hands tightened, helplessness and anxiety poking at their hearts._

_In the little nook outside the living room door, two brothers stood, backs slumped against the beige walls. They expected to be in this situation, but that didn’t help the fact that they didn’t know what to do._

_Uncomfortable in the midst of the confusion, the younger brother tried to talk through his choked voice._

_“Um, Takashi?”_

_“...Yeah?”_

_“Why are you so obsessed with that show?” He asked, “It’s just...murder._ Celebrated _murder. I don’t really get it.”_

_Takashi stared off into the distance, eyes blindly brave._

_He smiled. It had been a while since he had last smiled. Crouching down to meet his brother’s questioning expression, he only continued to smile._

_“Because,” Takashi said, “sometimes the oasis isn’t the best part of a desert."_ _  
_

* * *

Kokichi woke up in a trash can.

He didn’t know why. He didn’t know how. All he knew is that he was in a trash can, and the only reason he knew that was because of the rotten apple core stuck in his mouth.

After instinctively kicking at the air a few times, his body lost any semblance of balance and fell over onto the floor. Kokichi grabbed his ankle and winced, partially out of pain and partially out of disgust. It seemed like an appropriate time to make some silly, self-deprecating joke, but the sight that greeted him once he opened his eyes made the atmosphere far too tense to think properly.

“Kaito,” Kokichi said the name in between a few more wheezes, “What... What are you doing here? Classes are over for today.”

Kaito scowled in silence. As the taller of the two, his standing figure loomed over Kokichi with an even grander-looking shadow. The bright sunlight from the window hung behind him at the perfect angle, masking his features and giving him a fierce glow. He looked like something in between a monster and a god.

He shoved his hands in his pockets as he spoke, “I wanna ask you something.”

By the time Kaito replied, Kokichi had already gotten up, albeit in a slow, hesitant pace. He placed a hand on his forehead to check for bruises. Nothing. Repeating the process with his chest, however, created a flurry of pain to shoot through his entire body.

“You wanted to ask me something,” Kokichi repeated the words, “so you knocked me out and put me in a trash can?”

“Tch,” Kaito scoffed, looking away, “It’s not like you woulda answered if I asked directly.”

Kokichi shrugged nonchalantly, “True.”

There were a few more moments of awkward silence. Much to Kaito’s surprise, Kokichi broke it. He gave Kaito a joking glare, the ghost of a smirk haunting his lips.

“What? Too flustered to talk? Do you have a crush on me or something?” Kokichi asked with a counterfeit wistfulness, suddenly gasping, “Wait, is this a confession? Are you going to confess to me? Wow, how romantic...”

“Huh?” Kaito blinked a few times before scrunching his eyebrows and shouting, lividness all over his tone, “No way! I’m not gay, you know! Especially not for _you_ , you brat!”

Kokichi smiled. He might as well have fun with this.

“Really? Then it has to be that boy in the hat, right?”

“W-what?” Kaito took a step back, the color drained from his face and the faintest hint of sickness laced in his expression, “Shuichi’s just a friend!”

Kokichi was bluffing in every definition of the word. He burst out laughing, wiping a tear from his eye.

“Okay, okay, whatever.” Kokichi still chuckled as he continued, “Seriously though, spit it out. Unlike you, I actually have a future, so I have to get home and study soon.”

“Ugh,” Kaito groaned, “Who knew you were this annoying? I thought you were that serious type.”

He stuck out his tongue and winked, “Too bad! You thought wrong. Zero marks for you, Mr. Momota!”

There was another fair amount of silence as Kaito tried to gather his thoughts again. Kokichi, who began to get bored, glanced over to the nearest clock, which was positioned in a firm stance on the other end of the hallway. Due to its distance, it was a bit difficult to read, but from the way the hands were positioned, it was approximately 6:00 P.M. Had he been out that long?

“The paper airplane,” Kaito’s words came crashing in. “The one I gave you.”

“You mean the one you threw at me?” Kokichi’s smirk was a bit more bitter this time, “The one that you accused me of making and throwing at myself like, and I quote, ‘a fucking retard?’”

“...Yeah, that’s the one,” He said, his eyes darting around the hallway, “I need it back.”

The reply was curt, “No.”

“What?” Kaito asked, more shocked than angry, “Why not?”

“Because I don’t know where it is...?” Kokichi tilted his head to the side, “Simple as that.”

Kaito placed a hand behind his hair and sighed. When he stopped, he slumped his hands to his sides and clenched them into fists, a frown overtaking any fragment of emotion left on his face. There was something about the frown that seemed disappointed, yet desperate – something dangerous. Kokichi wasn’t sure what he found so off-putting, but just looking at it was enough to make his muscles stiffen.

“When was the last time you saw it?” Kaito’s voice was quiet, strained even.

“In the classroom, probably.”

“Did you throw it away?”

“No.”

Like a flash of lightning, Kaito smashed his foot in front of Kokichi and lifted him up by his shirt. He scowled, and the smaller boy struggled to keep his smile. Terror wracked at his brain.

“You better not be lying,” He ground his teeth.

“Of... Of course not,” Kokichi swallowed the air, his hands instinctively reaching for Kaito’s, “I’m not a liar.”

Kaito stared into his wavering eyes with a judging stare. As his mania vanished, his grip loosened, letting Kokichi’s limp body fall onto the hallway’s floor with a relieved sigh.

“Geez, you really scared me, meanie!” Kokichi laughed, but the slightest remnant of fear injected itself into his words.

Kaito glanced away before speaking, “You said the last place you saw it was in the classroom, right?”

He nodded.

Small, stationary footsteps jaggedly tapped at the floor in succession. Kaito bit his lip and shuffled towards Kokichi, his mind elsewhere.

“Wait here,” He barely whispered, sprinting for the stairs.

“H-hey!” Kokichi yelled, extending an arm after him before reeling back in pain, “Hold on a second!”

It was too late. Kaito had zipped past the end of the stairway and onto the third floor, skipping a few steps along the way.         

Questions buzzed within the crevices of Kokichi’s mind.

Why was Kaito so obsessed with retrieving that paper airplane? And of course, why would anyone make a paper airplane – and chuck it at someone, for crying out loud - out of something supposedly so important?

 _Well, I mean, he_ is _Kaito_ , he mused, _He’s kind of an idiot._

Reaching into the depths of his pockets, Kokichi pulled out a small paper airplane. It was wrinkled at the edges now, a supposed punishment for its original owner’s recklessness. The more recognizable features unmasked themselves with ease.

A wide zero touched the tip of one of the wings.

“Huh? Wait,” Kokichi spoke without really thinking, carefully stabilizing the airplane in his palm, “A zero?”

He didn’t notice it before, but the zero was oddly misshapen. Too misshapen. If it was _only_ misshapen, then he would have stuffed the paper airplane back into his pocket, no questions asked.  

But no, that wasn’t it at all.

The “zero” surrounded a cacographic “Kaito Momota” with the direction and strength of a military unit during a heated scrimmage. Usually, the poor number would envelop the upper eighth of the paper, or the side, or that one lonely corner. But around a student’s name? What if it was an eighteen or a fifty-three or, as it impossible as it may be, a one hundred?

Curiosity overwhelmed Kokichi. Fumbling with what he once thought was a past test, he disentangled the folds from one another, careful not to rip anything.

When he saw the paper for what it really was, he felt his heart drop to his knees.

“I... What? _What?_ No,” Spazzed words rolled out of his mouth, “No, that’s totally a lie. Yeah, it can’t... This can’t be... This can’t be true...”

Kokichi read over the paper again in his mind.

**Danganronpa V3 Participant Application Form**

Choked chuckling slid off the paper and into the increasingly suffocating air. His thoughts instinctively continued to torture him as his eyes scanned over the form.

 _This again_ , he thought, still laughing.

**Name: Kaito Momota**

The “zero” was a circle. A stupid, red, zero-y circle.

Those people were interested in him, in what he had to say. Kokichi was too, but at least he wasn’t thinking about sending him off to what was most likely going to be his death.

No functioning human being in the world would say Kaito was the greatest person to walk this planet. But he wasn’t a bad person. Kokichi knew that. Hell, even Kaito probably knew that. He doesn’t deserve to walk the path of death; nobody really does.

That was what Team Danganronpa didn’t understand. That was why Danganronpa functioned the way it did.

You apply. You play. You die.

And, on the off chance you survived, the life that awaited you afterwards wasn’t the best either.

Kokichi didn’t know Kaito very well, but from what he did know, he didn’t seem like the suicidal type. Maybe he was being short-sighted, or maybe Kaito had some dark secrets he’d never disclose to him. He wracked at his brain for answers.

_Why? Why? Why?_

Only one word sprinkled around his brain.  

 _Why? Then what... What the hell was_ that _yesterday?_

Kokichi remembered the exact tone of voice, the endless determination seeping through his words. Kaito’s face was lightly scrunched in a neutral expression, but to be honest, he didn’t need to smile or frown. His eyes, deep and purple, said everything he needed to.

_“I’m not gonna die yet.”_

Kokichi’s eyes widened. Had Kaito signed up for Danganronpa in order to kill—

“Kokichi,” The voice he heard seemed oddly patronizing, but perhaps it was tiredness washing over the words. A familiar, baggy lab coat draped from the frail, redheaded teacher.

Turning around, Kokichi hurriedly straightened his posture, “Y-yes, Mr. Yumeno?”

“Please go home already,” he sighed, “I can’t go home until you do.”

* * *

The world seemed like a hazy watercolor painting. An abstract masterpiece with no real meaning given substance by a lying artist.

Narrow pathways lined the dark gray roads in symmetric succession. Kokichi walked on the sidewalk, eyes downcast, hands in pockets and all. Every time his feet hit the ground, the sounds echoed into the melting sunset, an ethereal sense of reality overtaking him.

Lucky for him, his mother enrolled him into the closest high school to his house possible. It was just outside his neighborhood and, being just a seven-minute walk to where he lived, was much shorter than most of his classmates’ commutes. He didn’t need to drag his own body along the street for much longer.

Two girls in school uniforms stood in front of a nearby apartment complex. From the blue pullovers and the short plaid skirt, they seemed to be from Kokichi’s school. They huddled together around a small cellphone, excited smiles on their faces.

He walked past them, only hearing fragments of their conversation.

“Rantaro’s coming back for the 53rd season!” The shorter-haired girl yelped.

“I’m so excited!” A girl with glasses squealed. “Who do you think the mastermind’ll be?”

“They haven’t revealed who the other participants are yet, silly,” Laughs filled the air, “I mean, unless you think it’s Rantaro.”

“Ooh, that’d be a good twist, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s Danganronpa, after all. Who knows what kind of crazy stuff will happen next season!”

Kokichi ran.

_No more. No more. Enough with that stupid show._

“What’s up with him?” He heard. He didn’t care.

“Isn’t that Takashi Ouma’s brother?” Echoes in the distance.

“Oh, yeah, Takashi! The mastermind of V0, right? You think he’d more happy to be the brother of such a fan-favorite.”

How long was it until he reached home again? Seven minutes?  How long was it until Kaito signed his life off to a bunch of selfish producers who only looked for the nearest opportunity for money? How long had it been since his idiotic brother threw himself into the pits of despair?

How long will it be until every high school student in Japan did the same?

He stopped counting and continued listening to his feet crash against the sidewalk like pelting rain.

* * *

The sun was on the verge of disappearing by the time Kokichi arrived. As close as his house was, he couldn’t beat the sunset. 

His accommodations were relatively modest, even when his father was still alive. Both of his parents believed in the idea of a happy home, not a huge one, which is why they picked a one-bathroom, one-story, one-tone tiny thing as their family’s house despite his father’s generous salary. For most of Kokichi’s life, that belief worked out. Maybe some of that naiveté rubbed off on him and his brother a little too much, because when their father died during an accident at work, that house quickly became the only option as a place to sleep, not counting the streets. Everything went south from there. 

Kokichi found the key in the plant outside the door (he called it Mr. Planty as a kid) and turned the lock with ease, a squeak grinding against his ears. He opened the door, soon greeted by darkness. 

“Um, Mom!” He tried to smile, “I’m home!”

Kokichi didn’t know why he expected an answer. She only answered on good days, and today was anything but. In the end, he couldn’t blame her. Losing both her husband and her oldest son took a toll on her heart, and spending the days mostly alone couldn’t have helped. 

A pang of guilt. Kokichi hated the feeling. 

“Hey, Mom,” He lowered his voice into faint whispers, approaching her doll-like body.

She sat on a thin white chair, which in itself was limp against the small dining table. The entire house seemed so lifeless. Kokichi took two more steps closer to her. 

“Maybe I should cook dinner tonight! I mean, I can only make instant noodles, but…” He laughed.

No response. Another two steps and he could smell the slight flowery scent of her long violet hair.

“Um… How does that sound?”

He inched closer to her again, tapping her on the shoulder, confused and terrified. Why had these feelings erupted from his mind? Nothing was wrong.

But everything was wrong. Very, very wrong. Instead of the bright fragrance of sunflowers, Kokichi only felt the blood stick to his finger. Every part of his body trembled. He lost his balance again and screamed.

“Oh… Oh god…” He breathed out, “What the fuck…?”

A knife stuck out from her stomach, shaky crimson lines falling from her torso onto the dirty flooring. Her eyes were closed, mouth slightly agape, and her eyebrows scrunched together in a spiritless curve. 

Memories of a putrid despair swallowed him whole. His brother held the PlayStation Vita and felt the rush of the first murder play out in his own hands. “This game’s really good,” he said, immersed in that dangerous reality. His mother’s body had reminded Kokichi of that, just a little bit...

No! What was he thinking? He needed to call an ambulance! 

Kokichi grabbed his mother’s purse from the kitchen and took out some coins. Running outside his house, he bolted to the nearest payphone and smashed the buttons with shaking fingers. 

“One… One… Nine…” He said, trying to stop the phone from falling out of his hands, “Come on, come on, come on…”

The light buzzing of a dial tone rang in Kokichi’s ears, letting the thoughts drown in his mind. Even if he had managed to contact someone, was there really any chance for his mother to be saved? From the slight second he saw her, the wound seemed old and deep, and the blood enveloped his nostrils with the stench of dying copper. There was no mistaking the flatness of her posture and the insipidity of her hanging mouth and shut eyes.

Whether or not someone could play the hero was unimportant. It was all too late.

A morning that began with silliness had ended with a blood red eclipse. There was no oasis in this desert. 

So then someone picked up the phone.

* * *

He shoved his hands into a beige trench coat and stared up at the afternoon sky. A fedora masked his eyes from the blinding sun, which heated up the ground like a burnt chicken in a microwave. 

“Summer, huh…” He said, his eyes trailing over to a large billboard, “That means the next season will be out soon.”

Another foot rapped the ground. With a tip of his hat, he looked straight ahead and smirked. 

“I'm not letting that happen... Or should I say,  _we're_ not letting that happen, are we?"


End file.
